


Bloody and Broken

by playmelikeyourstratovarius



Series: He Needs Me [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playmelikeyourstratovarius/pseuds/playmelikeyourstratovarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian ground his jaw and frowned, sighing through his nose.  “He was here, wasn’t he.”  It wasn’t a question, because Sebastian already knew the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody and Broken

Sebastian was still coming down off a high from his kill. He always felt this way, he always felt like he was on top of the world after putting a bullet between the eyes of an unsuspecting victim. Getting rid of the body had left him more than a bit covered in blood - Christ, this guy was a fucking gusher, it was disgusting - and his first thought was to get home and change, to make sure that he was pristine before Jim saw him.

He opened the door to their flat - unlocked, that should have been his first warning sign. The overwhelming sense of silence. Jim never shut up. Something had to be very, very wrong. “Jimmy?” he said softly, walking slowly through their shared flat, his hand resting on the pistol strapped to his thigh. “Where are you, kitten?”

He pulled the pistol from its holster as he rounded the corner, sweeping it around the sitting room. Content that no immediate threat was present, he slowly stepped into the room, spying a blue mess on the sofa. He recognised it immediately as the sheet from Jim’s - their - bed. “Jimmy,” he murmured.

Rounding the sofa, he saw Jim there, hair on end in most places, but matted on one side. There was a large glass of red wine in one hand, and with the other hand, he clutched the soft, blue fabric around himself. He looked so distraught, it was like the twist of a blade to Sebastian’s heart. The dark eyes lifted to meet Sebastian’s own bright, clear blues. Bottomless, dark, cold, lifeless. Something was very, _very_ wrong indeed. “What’s wrong, kitten?” he whispered, moving the sheet so he could sit on the other end of the sofa, staring at Jim, who was staring at the fireplace.

Jim shook his head, sipping from his wine glass, glassy eyes fixed on the fire, long since burned into embers. Sebastian ground his jaw and frowned, sighing through his nose. “He was here, wasn’t he.” It wasn’t a question, because Sebastian already knew the answer.

He watched as his big, strong, stony boss dissolved before him. Crying, Jim was crying right before his very eyes. He was nodding through the tears, fingers fisting tightly into the cornflower sheets. Sebastian leaned over, gently took the glass of wine from the man’s hand and set it on their coffee table. His arms - strong, muscular, yet gentle - pulled the slender, shaking form against his body and cradled Jim’s head against his chest.

The smaller man clung to his chest, sobbing against his bloodied shirt. He wondered how mad Jim would be once he realised that he was getting blood all over his favourite, most expensive sheets. But that didn’t matter now.

“Fix it, tiger.” The words were raspy from Jim’s throat, voice hoarse from hours of absolutely no use, other than sobbing. “Fix me.” Eyes lifted to Sebastian’s, begging him, pleading him. God, how could he ever say no to that face.

“Tell me what you need, kitten,” he whispered.

“Make love to me.” A moment of pause, insistent nuzzling into his throat. “Please, ‘Bastian.”

Sebastian had a moment of internal conflict. He knew that he would just be a bandage to put over the wound that Sherlock had ripped fresh open. Months and months of progress that Sebastian had made, and it was all out the window as soon as that curly-headed menace flounced through the door. His poor, poor Jim. Jim didn’t deserve any of this, didn’t deserve the pain and the hurt and the utter destruction that Holmes the Younger left behind him when he did these sorts of things.

But before he could say no, or even think about saying no, Jim was leaning up, pulling Sebastian’s face down and crushing their lips together. He tasted like salt and fine wine and menthol cigarettes - Jim didn’t smoke, Holmes only did when he and the doctor fought - but Sebastian found himself kissing back with almost equal desperation and need. He pried open the azure cocoon, wrapping it around himself as well, Jim’s warm, naked body warming the cooling blood on his chest.

The consulting criminal smirked at the sensation, slender fingers automatically fighting to unbutton the shirt, never once removing his lips from Sebastian’s. The sniper himself was conflicted, not sure what to do, how to react, if this was right, or if this would be good for them. For all he knew it was going to produce the opposite result. Maybe Jim would end up more obsessed with Sherlock than he had been to begin with. But he couldn’t refuse the man, salty tears still flowing from his eyes as Sebastian’s shirt was torn away from his body and thrown away from their warm, safe nest of blue.

Sebastian laid his boss back onto the sofa, blue sheet underneath the pair of them now, protecting the skin from sticking and chafing against the leather. He pressed gentle kisses along the sharp jut of Jim’s collarbone, his rough, calloused hands tracing slow, careful patterns across Jim’s abdomen, over his hip bones.

Jim’s fingers were fumbling with the buckle on his belt, and he lifted himself a bit to allow him to work. When his belt was undone, his button and zip were next, and Jim - impatient bugger that he was - just pushed his pants and trousers down in one go. Sebastian’s breath was becoming ragged now, and he cradled Jim’s body against his, not letting any space between them as he kicked out of his clothing.

Sebastian settled slowly between Jim’s thighs, looking into the dark, bottomless brown eyes for a moment, waiting for the silent consent, waiting for the man to say it was alright. No matter how many times Jim begged him, Sebastian would always wait for permission to continue. With how changeable his employer was, he couldn’t risk Jim changing his mind and adding another scar to his skin for doing something he didn’t like.

“Please,” came the desperate, strangled imploration.

Sebastian didn’t need anymore encouragement. He fumbled about in his trousers for the lotion that Jim had started making him carry. Jim had insisted that he do it for his hands, to keep them from getting dry and chapped and cracked while sitting for hours in the cold weather, waiting for a target, but the sniper knew that it was so there was always something for them, even if they didn’t have proper lubricant.

Jim reached for his hand, gripping it and pulling it back to his body, as if he was burning and the only thing that could relieve him was Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian frowned. “Jim...” he murmured in warning, brow furrowing.

“I did...I was...already...” Jim’s face flushed bright red, and Sebastian’s eyes widened.

Jim had already tried to relieve his frustration over Sherlock himself. That meant that Sebastian was indeed just the last and most convenient choice - what else was new? It was how their relationship worked. It was accepted, it was normal. Sebastian just sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You could have called me to come home,” he said softly, gently against Jim’s collarbone. “I would have ditched the body a lot quicker.”

“You would have done that, just for me, tiger?”

“Anything for you, Jimmy, you know that. Anything.”

Sebastian felt the smaller body beneath him sigh, and he felt relief flood through his body as well. Jim was calming down. The sniper could practically feel the the man relaxing, easing away from all of the stress that had been caused by that wretched Holmes character. Sebastian would wipe the rest of it away now. He would make Jim forget that Sherlock had even been in the flat that night.

“‘Bastian.”

Sebastian nodded, positioning his body between Jim’s slender thighs. A soft kiss and a gentle push, and Jim’s head lolled backwards against the smooth leather of the sofa. Those impossibly dark brown eyes fell closed as his hips rolled upwards to meet Sebastian’s own, and it wasn’t long before the consulting detective was keening below him, his body arching, skin brushing along every inch of Sebastian’s skin.

Jim’s breath stuttered just a bit, and his jaw fell slack. “Oh, God, Sherl--”

Sebastian leaned forward and devoured the cry, swallowed it with a kiss, erased its existence. He knew that Jim thought about the detective sod sometimes while they were together, but he never, ever let Jim utter his name. He couldn’t handle anything like that.

A mere few minutes later, they were spilling over the edge together, cries of Sebastian’s name on Jim’s thin lips, Sebastian’s face buried in the smooth, pale, perfect skin of Jim’s neck.

Jim’s gasps for breath were right against Sebastian’s ear, and his desperate pale fingers still clung to the sniper’s shoulders, gripping and clawing and pulling as he came down off of his high. Sebastian wasted no time with clean-up, just laid down beside Jim and pulled him against his chest, tugging the blanket from the back of the sofa and laying it over their bodies. He felt his boss settle against him, arm across his body, holding onto his side - possessiveness mixed with that ever-present desperation - and breathing against his neck.

Sebastian knew that when Jim woke up, he would be Moriarty again - cool, focused, detached. But for right now, he was Sebastian’s Jimmy, he was innocent and scared and needy.

“Sebastian?” came a small voice just below his ear, and the sniper jumped because he had been sure that Jim had fallen asleep.

“Yes, kitten?”

There was a long, long pause. Sebastian knew what was going to come out of it, but he wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t push anything. Jim had to say it on his own.

“Love you.” The whisper was fractured and broken a bit, and Sebastian could almost smell the salt of new tears forming.

“I love you, too, Jimmy. Go to sleep now, alright? I’ve got you.”

Jim made a small whining noise and curled closer, hitching one leg over Sebastian’s thigh. The blonde pulled him close, turning his head to breath against the dark hair at his jaw. Everything was alright for now, but who could really be sure how long it would stay this way? It was only guaranteed for as long as it took Sherlock Holmes to pop up at their flat again.

Sebastian needed to do something. He needed to be sure that Holmes never, ever messed with his boss again. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a shame for Sherlock Holmes to wind up in his crosshairs. Maybe it was about time that he died.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and feedback (of all kinds) are golden - here or [tumblr](http://playmelikeyourstratovarius.tumblr.com)!
> 
> A huge sorry if the characters seem OOC, or if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes - my proofreader was unavailable at the time, and my second-string is not very nit-picky x.x


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